I’m supposed to tell you about myself. Tell you why I’m here. I once had a blog. It embarrasses me now. But, I still keep it up, floating in the internet ether, a permanent reminder that we live in public. That where you once could move to a different town and reinvent yourself, the internet has successfully killed that for us. But perhaps it’s a good thing to remember all the versions of yourself that have come before. Perhaps it’s a good thing to honor and hold space for the past.
The purpose of this blog is to be present.
The hope of this practice is to hold space for my future, whenever it comes. In the six years I have not blogged, I have become a mother of four. I have become a teacher. I have become a master of fine arts in creative nonfiction. I can’t see around the corners right now, but I never saw these things either.
I’ll be writing about parenting, a lot.
I’ll be writing about feminism, a lot.
I’ll be writing about stories, a lot.
Why not keep a journal?
Because, I have something to tell you.
Who do you hope will listen?
Someone who has something to tell me.
What are your hopes for this blog?
To keep track of the miracles.
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